A Game of Scots
by Imperial Briton
Summary: What happens when you add whiskey, drunkenness, a hatred of anything 'Inglishhhh', downright rudeness, and the audacity & stubbornness to believe you are truly the devils in skirts, to GOT – hell if I know, read on…


**A Game of Scots…**

 **What happens when you add whisky, drunkenness, a hatred of anything 'Inglishhhh!', downright rudeness, and the audacity & stubbornness to believe you are truly the devils in skirts, to GOT – hell if I know, read on…**

 **This story may, or may not have swearing, it may or may not have death; it may or may not have been written a year ago; & it may or may not be a comedy… I hope you like this, I've got a ton of other stories to put on. Here is A game of Scots…**

 **Kunneg_Andris**

Daenerys whimpered as her brother hounded her into the latest port, where he sought to 'get an army' for the retaking of 'his' Iron Throne.

'sister sister sister; why are you so frightened?' he asked in the sickly sweet childs voice. 'You know this is only temporary; the 'Britins' king has accepted my proposal of your marriage. Once I get my army, and retake my throne – we can kill him and you can be with me again.' His gaze now dulled as he began thinking about his pitiful arse on the throne and the golden crown on his forehead.

'Just remember, smile; little sister – the britins appreciate charming ladies, or so I'm told.' He started giggling – likely about his pervesive thoughts on what the 'northern Barbarians' would do to his sister.

Then as they entered the city the sniffing girl felt a strong arm on her shoulders. Turning around she was met with a tall, aburn boy, no closer than her own age – barely a whisker on his face – dressed in red.

'Good af'rnoon Milady.' He proclaimed in a boisterous heavily accented [perhaps to heavily] voice. 'Could you tell me why you're got a sour puss on your face?'

She was about to tell him to let her go, when her 'beloved brother' came to her rescue. 'Were here to see your king northern barbarian.' He snarled, as the boys face darkened. 'get you disgusting claws off a princess of the Dragon Throne!'

Around them the people snarled. But the boy raised his hands, and the grumbling retracted.

He spoke to them again, his voice no longer accented – more like the dialect of a nobleman of the south, than the barbaric tongue of the north.

'I ask your business in Edinburgh dragon spawn.' He snarled angrily, 'The king would have interest only with she in your company, not the landless half blood.'

Viserys growled; 'If you will not watch your tongue slimy peasant, than I will for you!', then in a lightning move, he smashed his fist against the 'stupid commoners' face – surprisingly the boys nose was still in its shape, as her brother clutched his fingers.

Around them all the men dressed similarly to the boy, save for their furry hats, raised wooden/metal sticks at them, some sliding something at the end of their side of the stick, with sharp clicks. However, she also noticed gladly that they were all pointed at her brother, rather than her.

Then the boy came to her rescue gain. Gingerly brushing his nose to check it – he repeated his previous action, before ordering some men with tall not metal helmets, in black uniforms, to grab her brother, and they quickly put him in something that looked like small manacles.

That didn't mean however that they were all that nice about it – and Visaerys learned firsthand, police brutality.

Then after asking her how she was, the boy knelt down to the whining inbreed twit, and hissed softly, but loud enough so that everyone could hear.

'Watch my tongue you say – Grandfather will really like that when you try to marry your sister off to me.' His grin broadened, as he turned around to the partly pleased, partly terrified Targaryen.

'Now my dear – Daenerys was it? – perhaps officer Dunbar could offer you some hot Cocoa as we wait for the old coot to come down from his high chair – senile old buggers been trying to marry me off for years – though I must say, you're the prettiest one yet.' Then he gave her wink, and offered her his arm. 'Charles by the way – Charles prince to the Caldwell throne - though if you like you can call me Charlie – just never Bonny Prince Charlie – cause boy did those Jocks have a bad time.'

 **[FOR SCOTLAND!]**

10 minutes later –

The grey haired man paced the flagstone floor of the keep tower – really it was the most least public place the familiarly claimed 'Senile old bugger' could come up with.

'So mah grandsoon tell's meh tha ye be comin to my lands, to order me to marry my family to your wee, bonny lass.' The man declared scathingly at the soiled Targaryen; who was really really unhappy that this was so unimportant to the 'old coot' that it couldn't even been done in his palace.

'and what was it that you wanted me to give yoo in exchange for this forced deal?'

The white haired, and increasingly paling faced, prince said nothing.

'Ah yes, ma wee army, wasn' it?' he growled. 'Well for your' information laddie. No Scotsman bows down to an Englishman – Englishwoman maybe – we scots may be hard headed, but we aint dumb – but never a man from your lily livered family.'

His harsh gave softened slightly as he looked past the 'English wimp' at the ghost haired beauty that was talking softly to his now grinning grandson, as she sipped a mug of cocoa, like it was the most treasured thing in her life.

'Now I be tellin you this lad.' The last bit was spat out violently. 'What 'as your bleedin country ever done for my lot?' he asked abruptly.

'Erm – built a wall?' supplied that cowering 'claimed Dragonborn'.

'No we had that back in the time of old Vickie – never actually got to see Crimea – but the lads comin in with messages from Georgie, make even the bleedin English seem better than your miserable lot. Ah mean, even the bloody English back home, saw that invadin Scotland, was better than leavin them around to re invade and raid ever half a year.'

'your just bleedin lucky I took the highland rabble of Picts around here ahnd made em, into Scots.' He chuckled. 'That lad Eddard, was pretti' good at facin us in battle, even shared a whisky or two with 'im, last month. But other than tha' your miserable, fat southern arses, are just lambs for the slaughter. And that's even when we take away our Rifles and cannons.'

The bleach blonde looked at him questioningly. 'Ah the boomsticks.' He supplied half heartedly, as the idiots confusion. ' _Seriously, did this poof, come all the way north, to a people that have one of the most advanced technologies in the world, and not even bother to research us up – even a Drakothi can give you 10 reasons why not to mess with scots! Whiskey, Guns, Cannons, Haggis, Bagpipes, English teachers, Gin, claymores, Rabble; not forgetting our women!'_

'Well I was goin to toss the pair of ya out the gates before' he began, grinning internally as he saw the beaming sick smile on the perverts [Charlie had debriefed his 'old pop' on the few things he'd gotten out of the thankful princess], but dissipated as she saw the horror on the girls face.

'Bu' it seems that although you've got the rabble against ya, which sadly I canno' help you with' he said with a grin as the louts smile went down the drain. 'that being said, does not go with your sister' now the girls smile was back, as sweet and innocent as ever. 'she 'as a potential' Charlie nodded '-bride, of mah 'eir.' Now she was sharing her grin with both men. 'As such, she'll be treated to the finest that northern Briton can offer.

 **[FOR SCOTLAND!]**

For the next fortnight Charlie and his retinue took Daenerys around the kingdom of Scotland – which was largely just the majority of the wildling lands and some of the Watch's territory.

It was a wonder to the snow white princess, at how quickly they could travel in 'Growlers' and 'choochoo's' [though Charlie insisted they were called trains]. She saw the marvels of the Devoness Whiskey distillery; and 'Starks Wall' [a structure even the scots admired – albeit after the watch commander, disenfranchised with the southern buffoons, ran out of 'strong ale' and developed a penchant for Scottish alcohol; signed away the watch territories, to earn a retirement in a coal heated manor 2 [English] miles short of Black Castle].

But on her journey's she noticed, that when the 'Choo Choo' went through a cold patch, all the retinue gripped their 'Rifles', and Charlie pulled her close to him. Something that she didn't mind in the slightest; though it did leave her a bit baffled – especially when Private [though he didn't seem to understand privacy at all] O'Haley started talking to his non present mother, 'mary', who he claimed was in heaven. Or Neil Fitzpatrick – the man serving them tea, who clutched some wood, swearing to a similar named mother, who mothered someone called Jeezes?

It was only her return trip back to Edinburg [southern side of the wall] from clan Dunburgh – home of haggis, fresh or frozen – that it happened again, more violently.

The seeing walls [clear glass, they claimed] suddenly froze up, and the candle less lights dimmed; then a piercing scream echoed through the cabins.

'White Walkers!' her protectors yelled. Raising their metal/wooden sticks – firing them through the now opened window, Charlie grabbed her by the arm and led her into the walkway, just as she screamed, as a horrific ice fleshed creature tried to attack the soldiers before dropping dead, his head exploded.

As they entered the walkway she saw just meters away another guardsman, this time dressed in the blue of the kings guard – battling against another of the horrific creatures. Charlie unphased raised his 'pistol' and fired twice at the figure; before turning around and doing the same from behind them.

Terrified she followed her protector, but was shocked as he led her into a metal lined compartment, and handed her a pistol from a rack beside her.

'Daenerys, I havr grown attached to you these past few days,' he said softly and kissed her forehead. 'Watch out for yourself.' He then instructed her onto how to use the pistol.

'Remember the trigger, needs to be pulled back, but don't keep it locked, this is not an automatic weapon – we simply can't produce the ammunition for that on such a large scale – every time you want to fire it, pull the trigger back with your finger, then release, when it stops firing, get another pistol from the rack.' He ordered her. 'And remember stay alive.'

He rushed out, and she could hear more screams, as the frost monsters got blasted by the Prince.

As she stood quivering in the 'Magazine', she heard everything, the yells of dying men, the falling back, the charging, and ultimately the firing of the guns.

But then after nearly 2 hours of fighting, beams of sunlight shone through the bars of the magazines door. And a horn was sounded – it was mournful to say the least, but oddly fitting; and cheers were yelled from across the train.

Carefully she reopened the cast iron door to her haven; before being swept off her feet by an over joyed Scotsman with a speech impediment.

 **[FOR SCOTLAND!]**

It was half a year later when Daenerys was finally told the truth about 'Scotland'.

A kingdom forged from an expeditionary force gone wrong – the Scottish, 5th lowland regiment, under Captain William Caldwell; had mistakenly landed, through some portal, in the wildlands outside of the 'Wall'.

After subduing the local 'Natives' whom the young regiment had found to be uncannily Highlander like; the young officer directed the regiment and its prisoners to the closest civilised presence in the frost bitten north. The Wall.

It was then to the shock of both parties, that of the Regiment and the Watch; that they discovered that the Regiment was no longer in Europe.

After listening for long hours to the tired old man in charge of the Watch, who at the same time offered a map of Westeros, to help the landless captain [there were so many weird things going on that far north that dimensionally displaced super warriors was not to hard to believe].

After discussing with the Watch Commander, about the politics down south – William was astonished at the blatant stupidity and political game play going down everywhere short of the Northlands. Which Willie, aptly named Northumbria. By god it was worse than the English during the wars of the Roses [the scots had a real laugh at the English during that].

Then he had spotted one major thing on the map. The Watch territories.

200 thousand miles of land – something even a squatter in the colony of Australia, didn't have.

It was then that Willie also discovered the Watch Commanders fondness of strong alcohol – which was further extended when Willie asked for his 'aide' to bring him a bottle of his finest scotch.

It hadn't taken long for Jeor Mormont, a man going on 39, to sign over the deeds to the Watch lands, in exchange for a ticket out of 'This freezing hell hole'; and a barrel of the regimental whiskey.

So started Willies pacification of the natives, and the immigration of Northerners [he'd invited Rikard Stark for a whiskey, alongside the old commander]; eventually forming the city of Edinburgh [after their regimental home town] where they 'roughly' estimated it should be on the map for Westeros and Britain.

Around 5 years into this 'Scotland'; whilst traveling on horseback with the newly founded 'Clan Drakmoor Dragoons' Willie passed through the portal that brought his men to Westeros, and found himself right outside that very same spot in Scotland, where they had disappeared.

To his shock, he discovered that instead of the regiment having disappeared 10 years ago, it was instead 20 years; and his parents were long dead.

The advantage of this however was that the very reason he had joined the army in the first place; a betrothal written by his father, whilst drunk with Lord Lancaster, to that same lords 10 year old daughter; the contract sadly was still legal; hence promptly after reporting to the local barracks with a full report for Her Majesty; was put into jail, until the new Lord Lancaster could arrive with his sister [a spinster of 30 years], to get a shotgun wedding planned out.

Something that ended out well for him was that 'Old Vickie' did respond to his report – with an armed guard and confiscated carriage, to lead him back to Buckingham Palace. But on the less brilliant hand, the Lancaster's had caught up with him, and were escorted alongside him to London.

His face didn't half sting for the remainder of the journey.

He thought he was in love – the girl had the fighting spirit of a Scot – even if both siblings were blondes - and if her slap was a taster for their relationship, then he was all in. what fighting man wants a craven woman for a wife – he lives for battle – and what better than a battle of the heart.

That being said the love making made on the return trip was pretty good to say the least.

 **[FOR SCOTLAND!]**

It was with his audience with Victoria that William was finally bestowed kingship of 'Nova Caledonia'; Vickie's excuse when asked about why she was making him, her subject her equal, was rounding laughter from the typically mourning Queen.

"One takes it that one does not know about ones title as Empress of India" she chuckled in a regal manner – which was made even more so, when her attendant appeared to have a stroke at the usually dour queens happiness.

Her face then grew serious. "One also knows that the best way to hold control over places of diificult access, is to vassalise kings of those nations, to serve their common Empress."

He smiled in return, as she ordered for one of the 'Scottish' family jewels to be used to crown him king. 'But what your majesty, if I make myself Emperor in Westeros?' he asked.

She just grinned again. "As long as you don't do it under my Reign, I have no troubles King William of Nova Caledonia" she said threateningly [who knew such a short, rotund woman could be so intimidating?].

'Rest assured your excellency my loyalty is assured.'

With that she dismissed him, but not before ordering her present general of state to provide him the 'necessary tools of building an Empire.'

Two days later, in Nova Caledonia, the people of Black Castle were met with the entertaining view of 500 top hatted entrepreneurs and scientists [excluding botanists] another 2 regiments of Scots, with half a company of Ulster Irish, and two divisions of Welsh grenadiers.

That wasn't to mention the men passing through the 'portal' every moment loading off wooden crates, and artillery pieces, as well as the latest in Lee Enfield rifles.

But the most shocking and entertaining thing of all, was a woman who was the spitting image of the present young Lady Lannister – wife of Tywin Lannister, getting into a heat full physical assault, of their commanding officer; before beating him to the ground, and snogging him senseless.

From there 'New Caledonia' was going splendidly – until of course as the Starks say 'Winter Came'.

[FOR SCOTLAND !]

A young King Willie of Caledonia did not know what to do when he first came across reports of 'men of Ice' from the Picts and the 'Watch', on a broad basis he dismissed these accounts as 'drunken imagination' and 'hearsay'. And so for the first few years of Ruling all accounts of 'glowing blue eyes' were ignored.

That was until winter in year '11 of our most noble kings reign.' When the ice crept so far south that even the lord Rikard Stark asked the Caledonian king for sanctuary from the cold – the Targaryen king apparently suffering from 'King Georges Madness' – had ordered the North to surrender its wares for his 'new friend' Mr Plensington from Boticania – who just happened to be a pot plant.

It was there that Willies new born son, Jamie, first met the also newly born second son of Rikard – Eddard Stark.

But with the northerners of the Iron throne, came more legends of the 'White Walkers' as 'old nan' [Rikards mother] called them.

Rikard, much like his mother was also superstitious about the new reports from his people about 'glowing blue eyes in the dark', the growing winter, and the dead rising from their graves to kill their loved ones, with glowing blue eyes.

Sighing, Willie then invited Rikard for a 'hunt' of the 'little buggers'; which although he knew would end up fruitless – but would hopefully allay both of their rising fears of the dark.

It was the pair, protected by Willies retinue of 'Cold Guard' [a cavalry alternative to Empress Victoria's Cold Stream Guard], armed to the teeth with rifles [Rikard, although initially sceptical, caught onto the idea, after seeing an army of Greyjoy Raiders decimated by the ranged weapons], and Caledonian smithed sabres; that then decided to ride through 'the Black Forest' of the woodlands between the former Watch border with the North – where the most recent sightings were claimed to have originated.

As it reached midnight, the full moon leered down on the hunt, as Wolves howled at its plump form. The horses were jittery, but kept calm by the soothing words of Briton, by their riders.

Then a frozen axe head hit Lance Corporal Albertham in his chest plate. And blood curdling shrieks came from a forest now filled with glowing blue eyes.

'Remain mounted lads' roared Willie. 'fire at the buggers'.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Aehhhh!

Another rider received a axe to his chest plate – thank god for the fact that it was British blue steel, and not the pansy 'officer shine' that other bodyguards wore – worst he'd get is a heavily bruised back.

But the weirdest thing that happened was that the monsters simply would not die – it seemed good old lead had no effect on the bastards. "All righ' lads charge em!' he yelled finally, after the monsters began to over come their initial fear of the 'magic' projectiles.

Rikard mean time had attacked one of the icy perversions of mankind's form; ' _hisss!'_ it shrieked as his claymore [a welcoming gift from the Clan of Caldwell], bit into its neck, and it disappeared in a cloud of steam.

'They can die!' he yelled to his fellows. 'Steel kills them!'

 **And that's all folks – I wrote this as an afterthought during the Scottish independence referendum last year – I am myself not Scottish; though I am of strong Scottish descent – and find half the stuff they came up for the referendum, as beyond a joke. I hope you like this story, I know I played around this the GOT continuity allot in this partial comedy, but I hope it paid off…**

 **Kunneg_Andris signing off**

 **(PS: in the unlikely event that anyone may have an interest in writing an alike story, or one inspired from this, they have free reign to do so, I have no qualms over the freedom of the written word)**


End file.
